Fists of Fury
by Sebi
Summary: A companion to Hell Hath No Fury. The gloves are off and this time they are playing for keeps. Please review!


One of my wonderful reviewers **Cyborgscouse** mentioned wanting the original edit of Hell Hath No Fury… to continue and this is what I came up with. This really is the last one though. I hope everyone enjoys this one as it is the longest single fic I have ever written in one day. My brain has turned to mush, and I'm 99% sure I'm not going to sleep tonight but hopefully it was worth it.

As always, I have no beta so please excuse any spelling and grammar errors.

Please review, each and every word is inspiration.

**Fists of Fury**

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"Natasha!"

Oops, here he comes. Natasha dashed to her vanity for a quick makeup check before giving herself a mental slap for the absurdity of the impulse.

If looks could kill, her reflection would be a stone cold corps, six feet under by now.

Get it together Romanoff, you are not some love sick school girl and he sure as hell isn't Prince Charming.

Her reflection nodding in agreement, she barely had time to turn before her abused door slammed painful against the wall to reveal one very pissed off Hawkeye looking for the entire world like he might just kill her this time.

"There you are! At the risk of sounding like a broken record, what the _hell_ is going on with you Nat?"

Clint had had every intention of bursting in and knocking some sense into his deranged partner- really he did -but he'd be damned if the sight of her lush curves poised against her vanity, scarlet curls mussed sexily, and ruby lips pursed just so, didn't have him melting on the spot.

Suck it up man!

"Really Clint, it's not as bad as it seems." There was still the slim chance she could play this down. She had promised him she wouldn't do it again, and at the time she had fully intended to keep her promise. It was nice, this spark between them, and despite the scars of her past she wanted to see were this could go.

Too bad everyone else was hell bent on pissing her off. And she had been doing so well to. It was enough to have her pouting like a five year old.

"This is the third time this month Tasha! Every time I go away on a mission I come back to find you've put another agent in the hospital."

"Month and a half." She corrected, mentally taking inventory of all available escape routs for when this turned ugly, and it was going to turn ugly if the throbbing in his right jugular vein was any indication. Stupid SHIELD and their cramped quarters with only one viable exit!

Note to self, carve addition exits behind dresser and possibly in closet tomorrow_._ Both would lead into Clint's adjoining room, but that could be fun to...

"Do you know how close Fury is to having your ass redacted? I practically had to promises him my first born to get him to back down. He's going to own my ass for my next two life times the way your going, Nat."

Screw being good, the famous Black Widow temper roared to life at his audacity.

"Is that all you had to promise? How about your balls, you don't seem to have any use for them! I don't need you cleaning up my messes Clint. I'm a big girl now." She hissed with venom dripping from every syllable as she abandoning her perch and stalking within an inch of his muscular chest.

"Is that so?" Hawkeye challenged, not at all intimidated by the Widow's leveling stare or sharp tongue. There were unspoken rules to this game and she had broken them by upping the body count. Now she would have to face the consequences head on, something that his dead Natasha was not fawned of doing. At least not when it came to their relationship, she preferred the ignore it until it goes away method far more.

"Then why does the commissary look like the scene of World War three?" Advancing on her, he forced her back with his broader frame. "And better yet why is Fury's second in command, Maria Hill in the infirmary auditioning for the part of purple Smurfette number three!"

"Oh now you're just being dramatic. It wasn't that bad, maybe a few scrapes and bruises, nothing to get worked up about." Natasha waved him off and darted left to escape his advances but he anticipated her move, compensated and blocking the doorway. Effectively trapping his pray in his sights.

"She has a fractured wrist, dislocated shoulder, torn ACL in her right knee, 4 broken ribs…"

"See not so bad." She countered.

"6 broken fingers, multiple hematomas the size of ostrich eggs, and if that wasn't enough, a concussion." He ticked off on his fingers.

Two steps more and she would be pinned.

"Alright, I may have gotten a little carried away, but it's hardly my fault."

Innocence didn't suit her anymore now than it did when she'd put his ex-girlfriend, Bobbi Morse in the infirmary a month ago. He had let her go then, content to let Natasha have her secret, but this had gone on long enough.

"How do you figure that? What in the world could Hill have said to earn all of that, because I really want to know?"

With a resounding thump her back hit the wall, hot breath scorched her face, setting her nerves aflame.

Ducking around him, she answer in a haughtily tone designed to raise his hackles. "She has a big mouth. One of these days the female agents of SHIELD will learn to keep their eyes to them selves and their mouth shut. If not? Well, lets just say, I wont be held responsible for my actions."

He rounded on her, and the dance began. They both knew what the confrontation had been about.

Jealousy. An emotion she had once thought herself above. One wrong turn, one interrupted kiss between her partner and his now ex-проститутка, and her eyes had flared a shade of florescent green that even the Hulk would be envious of.

Clint had allowed her a reprieve, and again when she had confronted Agent Hunter about her bold face lies regarding her alleged affair with Clint two weeks ago, but she may have gone a tad too far this time. Maybe.

"Are you insane?"

"Not that I know of." She volleyed back while sticking her tongue out in his direction. Childish she knew, but Clint brought out her inner child, as well as her her inner bitch, hormonally challenged teenage self, and homicidal maniac it seemed.

"Very mature. I gave you Bobbi, I even gave you Agent Hunter, you two had been at each others throats for years, but Hill? Was she eying your new baby?" He motioned to her newest gun acquisition. "Make a comment about your hair? What did you do that set you off?"

Outraged eyes nailed him to the wall for implying she would ever resort to violence over something so…civilian, as her hair.

In retaliation she ignored him.

"Natalia!"

Bingo! That got her attention.

"What did you just call me?" Her voice dropped, taking on a lethal undertone normally reserved for those that were not long for this world.

He could see the muscles bunch and coil under the fabric of her black camisole, he knew what came next and he was looking forward to it.

Time to push his little homicidal assassin to the breaking point.

"You heard me, _Natalia_."

Four words signed his death warrant.

In a flurry of movement she pounced, using the element of surprise to knock him off balance and they went tumbling to the ground. A knee to the abdomen knocked the breath out of him long enough for her to volt to her feet. Two steps from the door he seized her ankle sending her flying face first into the carpet. With a grace unique to her, she caught herself swinging one killer thigh toward his head for her signature thigh choke. Not a bad way to go in his opinion but thousands of training sessions allowed him to dodge the offending limb. With a practiced move of his own he managed to use his greater mass to flip her to her back, but not before the hell cat got in a few solid hits to his jaw.

_That was going to leave a mark_, he groaned around the radiating pain shooting through his jaw and exploding behind his eye.

"Enough!" He barked over her muffled cries and threats. Shins effectively pinned her deadly thighs, one hand held both her wrists while the other applied gentle but firm pressure to her throat. The pressure gradually increasing until her body stilled beneath him. This was a signal used during sparing sessions between them that things had gone to far.

"Get off me Barton."

"Not until you tell me what Hill said."

"Go fuck yourself Hawkboy!"

Spitting like an angry viper, she was a vision to behold. Cheeks flushed, hair a wild array of provocative flames, eyes wild and dilated, and her lips. Dear lord, her lips were a wet dream come true to his lust shrouded mind.

"Oh now where's the fun in that Nat. Tell me and I'll give you a reward." He promised dropping his voice to a low rumble that promised the reward would be well worth the sacrifice to her dignity.

In response Natasha ceased her struggling. Against her will the air in her lungs turned to ash, leaving her panting beneath him. She had known him for the better part of her life, seen him at his best, worst, and everything in between, but this was a side of her partner that even her wildest dreams had been unable to anticipate.

Вот дерьмо!

Yep, she was in big trouble if the feverish heat settling between her thighs was any indication.

The molten steel of his gaze bled to onyx before her eyes and she gulped audibly. Natasha was not unaccustomed to physical intimacy but only as a means to an end. She had never felt the stirrings of desire with such agonizing intensity before now.

The grip on her neck lightened, shifted, until the calloused pads of his fingers were blazing a trail of fire down the columns of her throat, across her collar bone, skirting the heaving swell of her breasts, and slowly, ever so slowly smoothing down her sides before attacking the sensitive skin above her rounded hips.

"Bastard!" She screamed between hysterical fights of giggles. Her body squirming convulsively under him in a vain attempt at freedom.

He may very well die for this later, but desperate times called for desperate measures, he concluded with a lecherous grin splitting his face.

"Tell me what she said and I'll let you go." He compelled, never letting up his merciless torture.

"Alright, alright! She was…*giggle* going on about how…*snort* hot you looked in your uniform and now that *hiccup* you were single she was going to have her turn with the _legendary_ Hawkeye. As if she could handle you." She half chocked, half mumbled under her breath.

Nope, he hadn't seen that one coming ether. Clint felt vaguely sick at the notion of one of his commanding officers coming onto him. Agent Hill wasn't an unattractive woman by any man's standards, but she was synonymous with Director Fury in his book. Shudders raked down his spine as a vision of Fury in Hills figure hugging uniform, giving him a come hither look crossed his mind.

Then her last comment registered and Fury was suddenly the farthest thing from him thoughts. Was that an invitation?

Taking note of his distraction now that the assault on her sides had waned to a faint teasing, she tested his grip on her wrists but found it unbreakable. Unless she wanted to cause permanent damage to his manhood, that is. As tempting as the alternative was she still had a begrudging interest in that particular part of his anatomy.

"Happy, you got what you wanted. Now leave me alone."

If violence wasn't an option then she was willing to play the petulant child if only to get him to back off long enough for her to get herself under control again.

"Why should I. I do think you have a little thing for me Agent Romanoff."

Her head snapped to attention, there was an undercurrent to his voice and a glint to his eyes. A promise and a challenge if she was willing to cross that line with him.

A voice that sounded remarkably like Clint whispered softy, _Have a little faith, Tasha._

An eternity ticked by in a second until she came to a decision.

Using surprise to her advantage she twisted one arm out of his grip, hooked her elbow behind his smirking jaw and used all her strength to throw him off her.

"Not a _little_ thing Barton."

Ruby lips descended and proceeded to devour Clint alive. Taking things slow was over rated, Natasha decided at the first taste of his tongue. She much preferred the direct method anyway.

Two hours, and a one broken bed frame later Clint rolled off his partner, both panting for air and pleasantly sore in all the right places. "You do realize there's going to be a few Anger Management classes in your future. Don't you, Tosh?"

"You do realize once I tell Fury how you knocked my door off it's hinges, broke one of my lamps, shattered my mirror…"

"You broke the mirror when you throw me onto the vanity."

"I don't remember you complaining at the time." Natasha sassed crawling over his prone body, before continuing as if he hadn't interrupted. "And dented my wall. You will be joining me in Anger Management hell." She finished sweetly, trailing a line of wet kisses down his abdomen.

"Fare enough."

It was his turn to pounce.

**The End**

Translations: проститутка (Prostitute/ bimbo), and Вот дерьмо (oh shit). If any of those are incorrect, I apologize. I do not speak Russian only a little French.**  
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